Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
The steel door is held open by a soldier who tosses the butt of his cigarette onto the ground. I walk in through this dingy back entrance. No one’s here and I guess this isn’t even the staff entrance.
I pick up the smells of food and hear the bustle of a busy kitchen. At the far end of the room, I see the small, round window in a door that leads to where those smells are coming from. I wonder if any kitchen staff know what happens just below their feet.
Another man stands at a second door. He opens it and I’m hustled inside. This doorway leads to a staircase too narrow for both my guards, so one goes ahead and the other behind me. I’m tempted to kick the legs out from the one in front of me but hold back.
I look around the large but dingy space, recognize it from the pictures. They didn’t do it justice. Or maybe it’s been used since those photos were taken. And photos can’t capture the smells of a place. Bleach and basement with an undercurrent of blood and fear.
I think about Mara being brought here. Mara made to witness what they did. That’s good. That makes my blood boil.
Two men lean against the counter talking. Along that counter I see several butcher knives and various other tools they’ll use to torture me. Or so they think. They straighten when we enter, and I note the hazmat like suits they’re wearing. I’m going to guess that’s to intimidate. It’s overkill if you ask me.
I’m planted unceremoniously into one of the two chairs at the table my back to the staircase. I would have preferred the other seat.
The soldiers who accompanied me down walk back up the stairs. The door slams shut loudly behind them.
“You know it’s polite to offer your guest a drink,” I say to the two idiots tasked with keeping me company. They’re to my left for which I’m grateful. My peripheral vision to the right is nonexistent.
They don’t reply. But I don’t have to wait long before I hear the door open, hear the low grumble of voices speaking Russian.
I think of Mara then. Of how she must have felt every time the door to her room opened and he entered. And I think about how she is. Quiet. Intense. Dark. What would she have been like if they hadn’t taken her? If she hadn’t been on the island the day of the massacre? If she’d had a chance to lead a normal life.
“You’re not very intelligent, are you Mr. Grigori?” Petrov says from behind me.
I crane my neck to watch the hulking man remove his coat and hand it to another, shorter man in a suit and hat. No hazmat on this guy. I guess he thinks he’s leaving before things get messy.
I move to rise to my feet but a hand clamps down over my shoulder and shoves me back down. “And you’re even fatter than your pictures show.” I smile wide as I take in one of the men who turned Mara into the lost girl she’s become. “I thought they said it was the camera that added ten pounds.”
His smile disappears and his lips settle into what I guess is his usual scowl. He unbuttons his jacket and pushes it back to show me the shoulder holster containing his pistol. He lowers himself into the seat across from mine.
“Where is she?”
“Not here.”
“You think I’m playing a game?”
“Why would I think that?”
“My men are destroying the second penthouse as we speak.”
“I thank you for that. It saves me the trouble.”
He sits back, beady eyes narrowed, assessing me coldly. “You’ve destroyed each property your father left you.”
My jaw ticks. He knows David is my father. How the fuck does he know?
He grins. He must see my reaction. Well, good for him. I’ll give him a fucking sticker.
“What’s the matter, didn’t like daddy’s gifts?”
“Fuck you, Petrov.”
“No, I believe you are the one who’s fucked at the moment. Where is my property?”
“She’s a human being.”
He cocks his head. “No. Property,” he says, studying me. I school my features. “Something pretty to own and discard when it’s used up.”
I want to kill him. “Why do you want her back? She’s not who you thought. In fact, didn’t she make a fool of you?”
It’s him with the tick in his jaw this time. At least I think that’s a tick. I can’t quite make out muscle movement beneath the layers of fat.
“She and Felix, that is. That tiny little nobody Felix Pérez, along with a fifteen-year-old-girl, made a fool of the great Ivan Petrov. Tell me, are your friends still having a good laugh at your expense? Oh wait, you don’t have any friends.”
He’s quiet, still assessing. He’s not a stupid man. I know that. And I need to be careful. Push him just enough. But not too far. Not yet. It would have been better if he’d put his pistol on the table between us. Given me a second option. But as it stands, I only have one.